


Ready, Set

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [71]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 09:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Lancelot, the day before.





	Ready, Set

**Author's Note:**

> I'm adding in a few pieces I missed when uploading this series. Keep an eye for more coming (I hope).

"Shit."

The dish he drops for the third time, except this time it shatters on the tile floor, water and soap and chips of broken plate going everywhere. He stoops, cursing again, his red sweater and pristine designer jeans picking up flecks of mess as he sweeps the plate up. The largest chunk is face down and he sighs as he reads the name, _Fiestaware_ , embossed neatly on the bottom. Leave it to Arthur to own designer plates, of all things.

Lance dumps the shards into the trash and carefully finishes the few remaining dishes. Arthur has an automatic washer, but he'd chosen to do these by hand, his fingers in the heat and soapy water and touching the plates and sponge reminding him of the giant kitchen in his father's house, the stainless steel sink and scrubbing pads and scouring powder friends that he knows how to work. He shivers once from the wetness that soaks through the cashmere he wears.

He sniffs and rubs his nose and the water slides from its pointed end to his lips but he finishes the dishes and only wipes his face when he's done, the towel soft and smelling of that Myers soap Arthur favors. He makes sure the rest of the kitchen is spotless before leaving the room and snapping the light out, only a little violently.

First day of Academy classes is tomorrow, and he's strangely not nervous, but his stomach does twist so he grabs a handful of mini-Oreo's out of the bowl they're in on the table and shoves them down. His sugar cravings have been bad since he stopped the out of control drinking and drugs - he's never been a big eater, but the sugar seems to calm his restless energy. Besides, it keeps Arthur from wearing that broken expression around Lancelot, and he'd give anything or eat anything all day to keep that look from crossing the other man's face again. It's a thing that Lance has nightmares about, sometimes, and is thankful each day that Arthur smiles more.

He crosses the living room to the couch, and contemplates plopping down and watching tv, but his right leg gets a weird shake and he jumps back up the moment he sits, heading for the sliding glass door and outside, where the Santa Ana's are blowing and where he can make as much noise or as little as he wants without the empty loft echoing any tiny sound back at him.

There's a load of traffic and the sounds are around him, night noise pressing in on Lance the second he steps outside, barefoot in his jeans and sweater, cashmere, red and fancy, perfect hair mussed the moment the wind hits it. He crosses the wooden flooring and ends up at the railing, feet absorbing the warmth from the sun that's baked into the ground. Los Angeles is nothing if not interesting - he closes his eyes and leans on the wooden slats and breathes the smog of the city in deeply, taking in the cacophony of everything, soaking it into his blood and bones and skin and he bites his lip and clenches his fingers and wonders for the thousandth time what tomorrow will bring and will it be what he wants -

That stops him and he opens his eyes, silence descending, throwing it all off kilter and the black ravenous monster of his reality slakes its thirst on his thoughts.

_Will this be what I want?_

That doesn't matter any more. It never did, truth be told, even from the moment he confessed his desire to matter again to Arthur at that seedy motel in Malibu. _You're everything that's clean and right in my life. I need you. I need to be human again._

"I need you," he murmurs out loud. "I will be whatever you want."

The noise is suddenly there again, filling his ears with ricochets of honks and screeching and people laughing and waves and wind and Lance smiles through the tears that finally fall in deference to the one-eighty his existence is taking, turning him into a thing he doesn't know if he can be, the greatest role he'll ever play in his life.

He twists the white gold band he wears on his left hand out of habit, and when Arthur is unexpectedly at his side, smelling of sweat and coffee and gunshot residue and musk and anything Lancelot loves, he smiles and takes Arthur's arm in his own hands and remembers just why he's okay with being the best actor he's ever been.

He tells Arthur about the broken plate, sorrow tinging his voice, but Arthur merely laughs and kisses his temple, tired lips trembling from exhaustion - Lance accepts Arthur's right arm that slides around his waist and he turns into Arthur's broad form, thinking thoughts that rip his soul free and allow it to slip from him, responsibility and morals nothing but concepts that burden his already overtaxed and smashed, pulpy heart.

He's going to be what Arthur wants now, the price he'll have to pay for this man that currently holds him and is telling him about his day and Lance smiles and laughs in the right places and tucks himself closer to Arthur when the water that wets his sweater sleeves from the dishes won't seem to dry, hot winds that fill the air making him ache with their intensity.


End file.
